


In A Crowded Room

by abstractsatanism



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Hoodies, House Party, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, ON GOD im gonna get yall into power bottom george, Obsessive Behavior, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Power Bottom, Power Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Protectiveness, Riding, Size Difference, Stomach Bulging, all of that is pretty mild, is that not a tag? how is that not a tag, just in the beginning, much more horny than it read on the tin, one direction is there for a hot second, seriously i felt like i needed aftercare after writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29601417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractsatanism/pseuds/abstractsatanism
Summary: “How are we supposed to dance to this? It’s like, the slowest song ever.”George shrugs, pulls Dream closer to him. Dream wonders if he can feel the way his heart stops. “I mean we can just kind of sway here. It doesn’t matter.”It matters very muchDream thinks. It definitely matters to Dream’s slowly short circuiting brain, with the way George pulls them closer together, the way he rests his head on Dream’s chest.But George pulls his eyes back onto him, like always, like he always does. Sends him a soft smile, so the only thought racing through Dream’s overworked brain isgod he’s so pretty. He lets George mumble the lyrics into his chest, lets his hot breath fill his lungs, lets the prettiest boy in the world hold him closer than anyone else in the room.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 1068
Collections: how tf do i find this





	In A Crowded Room

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic really like.. came out of no where? Idk its inspired by a party I went to pre covid and was thinking back to, except I didn't end the night fucking my roommate into a mattress?
> 
> If you're here from either Conjugal Visit or tumblr, then you'll probably know I promised that I would be writing the cucking fic next. I was just in kind of a writers block with it, and then this fic just like, shot straight out of my veins.
> 
> Anyways I am really happy with how this turned out, hope you'll all enjoy!!!
> 
> (Oh and thanks to Isaiah who proofread this like minutes before I posted)

Dream feels like he can’t breathe. Which was absolutely, incredibly stupid, because he was breathing, but the tightness in his chest made it feel like he was underwater. The beer can he had been using to cool down his hands had long since gone warm, leaving it useless and entirely full in Dream’s palms. Every once in a while, someone would stray too close to him, jostling him and spilling the cheap drink onto his hands.

_God this was fucking stupid._

Dream hates parties, absolutely fucking hates them. There were so many fucking _people_ , almost all of them drunk out of their minds, overwhelming his vision and making him see spots as he tries to keep tabs on them all. He would constantly look from one person to another, desperately looking for a friendly face in the crowd, always finding none.

Well that wasn’t necessarily true. Almost every single face he saw was someone Dream knew, from a class or another party or some useless group chat Sapnap had added him to. And everyone greeted Dream, wanted to talk his ear off, wanted to hand him another drink despite the one sitting full in his hands. He just didn’t want to talk to any of _them_. The idea of talking to someone he didn’t care about about how drunk they were or where their date went or some opinion he had shared a in class was so _repulsive_ Dream almost debated leaving right then and there.

But George was here, and he was George’s escort back home.

He hated his roommate for dragging him into this, hated the way his best friend of 10 years and his stupidly attractive roommate teamed up to “socialize” Dream, whatever that meant. Dream was fucking _socialized_ , ok? He had a fine social life. He talked to people in his classes, went over to Sapnap’s a few times a week, hung out in George’s room more than his own. Just because he wasn’t as absolutely _enamored_ by the party animal lifestyle as Sapnap, or because he didn’t get off on the push and pull of people dragging in and out of endless conversations like George didn’t mean he was antisocial.

If he spent more time rewriting his essays than he did puking in a toilet, then that was Dream’s business and Dream’s business alone.

The constant thumping of what seemed like the same five songs finally got to Dream. He bobbed his way through the endless people crammed into Sapnap’s living room and tried to rush up the stairs. No one who cared enough about the dignity of the house would stop him, everyone who mattered knew this was as much his house as it was Sapnap, Karl, and Quackity’s. The top of the stairs felt like breaking water for the first time in months, Dream let the absence of the crowd fill his lungs like he was dying for it. He could’ve been dying for it, for all he knew.

The door to Sapnap’s room was unlocked, which was stupid, because there definitely _was_ a lock installed on the door, and there definitely _would be_ two or more people looking to use this room later for personal use. Dream had to shudder and the thought of how many people had had sex on Sapnap’s bed who weren’t Sapnap, and then almost had to let out another shudder at the thought of _Sapnap_ having sex on Sapnap’s bed, before he remembered Sapnap suffered from Lack Of Ass-itis and was finally able to calm down.

His previous train of thought led Dream to sit on the carpeted floor. Idly, he wished he’d brought up his disgusting warm beer, just so he’d have something to sip on now that he’s alone. He knows that he left it on the floor in the living room, lets out a polite wince at the fact that it’s definitely been knocked over by now. But hey, Dream’s not the one who insists on having a party in his living space every weekend, so that’s really more of a Sapnap problem.

Actually more likely a Quackity problem, he doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen Sapnap clean anything.

Dream lights up his phone automatically, heads over to Instagram on second nature. The endless scroll of the explore page definitely looks inviting right about now, but George’s profile picture surrounded by a little pink ring looks even more so. He clicks on the icon without thinking about it.

He’s automatically greeted with a picture of Quackity (obviously drunk out of his mind) trying to make out with George’s cheek. Which, first of all, _ew_ , he never wanted to see Quackity’s tongue do anything remotely close to that ever in his entire life. He feels like his life expectancy has been vastly shortened by the image now burned into his retinas. But the way George’s entire face is completely lit up, caught mid laugh, mouth wide open and eyes crinkled shut-

Dream feels like he’s back downstairs, surrounded by the strangers he knows and water pressing down onto his chest.

His thumb has been absentmindedly holding down on his screen, the picture stays on his phone and isn’t going away. Dream wants to let go, but he can’t. His roommate invited him to this party, Dream promised to come and spend time with him. But here he is, holed up in the bedroom upstairs, feeling like shit, while his pretty, charming roommate is downstairs having the time of his life. 

He feels pathetic. He feels angry. 

Oh. 

He feels alone too. 

He swipes the picture away and locks his phone. The pressure building up in his chest and behind his eyes is getting to be too much, but Dream can’t help but think about how utterly _stupid_ he feels. George doesn’t owe him anything, George is allowed to dance and take photos and _kiss_ whoever he wants. Dream knows this, runs the words through his head until he feels sick of them. But that doesn’t help the way his entire body _screams_ to be the one making George’s face light up like that.

Dream is very nearly debating doing something painful and _dumb_ to Sapnap’s wall when he hears the Instagram notification on his phone.

 _Sapnap sent a photo_.

 _Ugh_ he probably noticed Dream had left his position of the couch and figured Dream was hiding somewhere upstairs, it was really only a matter of time before Sapnap found him and dragged him back into the sea of humid bodies. But curiosity eats away at him, what on earth could Sapnap have sent him? It was probably the smiling faces of all his friends having a good time without noticing Dream was even gone, and part of Dream desperately wants to be hurt by that, to remind himself of what a good time he’s not going to have. He swipes on the notification and-

And is instantly greeted by George, beaming up at Sapnap’s camera. There’s no Quackity with him this time, which somehow eases the vice grip on Dream’s lungs. The flash in on and the background is blurry, making George look ethereal amongst the crowd. Dream can’t help but smile at how at peace George looks, how happy he obviously is. He feels better than he has all night. So before every working braincell he has left can scream at him to do otherwise, Dream quickly grabs a screenshot.

He doesn’t- well he doesn’t really know _why_ he does it. He has a handful of these, little candid moments of George doing something stupid while they talk in his room, goofy snapchats George has sent him to lighten his mood. But this one feels different, somehow. All he knows is that before, he felt like he was drowning. But as he turns up the brightness on his phone to get a better look at George’s ecstatic expression, he feels calmer. Quieter. Like he can handle this.

**_George_ **

_Why did you screenshot that?_

Oops.

Hot shame creeps up the back of Dream’s neck.

Why did he screenshot that?

_I have no idea what ur talking about_

_Sapnap literally showed me the notif._

_I looked so dumb omg._

Dream types out a protest, hovers his thumb over the send button and then quickly deletes it when he realizes how _creepy_ he sounds. _No George! It’s entirely impossible for you to look anything other than breathtakingly beautiful, so much so that sometimes it hurts me when I go a day without seeing your face. Every photo you’ve ever sent me I’ve spent far too long staring at, I’d screenshot them all if I thought you maybe felt the same way, even a little bit. Sometimes, I think about the other people who get to see you and I want to scream my head off because I want you to look like that just for me, only ever for me and-_

Yeah that’d be a great way for him to break his lease.

**_George_ **

_Where r u anyway? I miss u :(_

He misses him?

George, misses _him_?

The only thing he’s ever wanted was for George to miss him like Dream misses him.

_I was hiding I’ll come find u_

The speed at which Dream locks his phone and runs out of Sapnap’s room is nobody’s business but his own.

The sea of people downstairs immediately opens up just to swallow Dream whole. He feels the instant push and pull of bodies around him, of sweaty backs and hands clinging to his hoodie like lifelines. Several people recognize him and turn to grab him, but Dream’s okay this time. This time, he sees exactly what he was looking for.

The room hasn’t become any less humid, stuffy, and smoke filled from the last time Dream was down here, but his breath feels so much lighter because _George_ is standing in the corner by the door, frowning as he hurriedly types something into his phone.

“Hey.”

George jumps at the sound of Dream’s voice. “Dream! Where the hell were you? I’ve been looking for you for like, the past hour!”

The heaviness in Dream’s chest is replace by _warmth_ , by the warmth George always seems to carry with him into every room, every conversation. “I was upstairs. The music’s so annoying.”

George giggles, “I know, fucking Sapnap can’t seem to play anything but hip hop from two years ago. This party would be even a little bit bearable if he just let Karl control the music.”

Dream’s chest seizes. “You hate this party too?”

“Yeah, I’ve been looking for you to see if you were ready to head out.”

George agrees with him.

Dream’s never felt so _alive_ over something so _mundane_.

The thudding music suddenly comes to a complete stop, and George lets out a hysterical little laugh. When Dream turns to see what’s wrong with the sound system, he sees Karl in the corner, pushing away Sapnap and frantically typing something on his phone, before a One Direction song comes on.

“Oh my god! Karl actually did it!”

Dream can barely here him over the crowd, who have all collectively decided that a slow One Direction song from 2014 was officially the correct mood for a college rager. “What?”

“I’ve been texting Karl to hijack the music for like, thirty minutes! I can’t believe Sapnap let him!”

Well _let him_ is maybe too strong of words, considering how Karl is currently hopped up on a (concerningly shaky) little table, holding the phone out of Sapnap’s reach. Karl sees Dream and George looking at him, shoots them a drunken thumbs up while he screams out the lyrics with half of the crowd.

Dream feels a tug on his hoodie, turns to see George looking at him with the dopiest smile he’s seen all night. “Come on and dance with me Dream.”

“What? No way,” Dream knows a few minutes ago he had wanted nothing more to leave, but with George looking at him like that? With George smiling, just for him, asking Dream to do something he’s more than happy to do?

“Just for this song, then we’ll leave.”

Dream hesitates, but he had made up his mind the second he spotted George from across the room.

“ _Come on_ Dream, I know you like this song.”

 _I like you_ , he wants to say. It’s on the tip of Dream’s tongue.

“How are we supposed to dance to this? It’s like, the slowest song ever,” he settles for instead.

George shrugs, pulls Dream closer to him. Dream wonders if he can feel the way his heart stops. “I mean we can just kind of sway here. It doesn’t matter.”

 _It matters very much_ Dream thinks. It definitely matters to Dream’s slowly short circuiting brain, with the way George pulls them closer together, the way he rests his head on Dream’s chest.

Dream is once again pulled into the sea of endless bodies crammed into Sapnap’s living room. He can see the dark outlines of people jumping around or swaying to the song, can feel his eyes flicker over them one by one, feels the overwhelming since of _wrongness_ of him being here, amongst these people who are allowing themselves to have a good night.

But George pulls his eyes back onto him, like always, like he always does. Sends him a soft smile, so the only thought racing through Dream’s overworked brain is _god he’s so pretty_. He lets George mumble the lyrics into his chest, lets his hot breath fill his lungs, lets the prettiest boy in the world hold him closer than anyone else in the room.

“Does it every drive you crazy”

Dream’s entire face melts at George’s soft voice. He does really like this song. “Just how fast the night changes?” Dream tries to sing softly into the top of George’s head, like maybe that’ll hide the sincerity behind his words.

It doesn’t work, because he’s never been able to hide from George. He pulls away and looks up at Dream, “You have a really nice voice.”

Dream rolls his eyes, “Oh come on now.”

He’s not sure how much George has had to drink tonight, so it could very well be that the alcohol has chipped away his usually bitchy demeanor. But there’s nothing but kindness in George’s eyes as he looks only at Dream in the crowded room. “You do, I should probably tell you more. You’re a really good singer, Dream.”

The near painful sincerity pushes the breath out of his lungs.

 _He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this happy about not being able to breathe_.

George must notice the tension in the way Dream stands, so he shoots him one of his smiles that he must know _melts_ Dream, and tugs on his hand. “Come on, lets head out before Sapnap gets the phone back.”

Dream follows his lead; it feels stupid to do anything but.

The night air so is disorienting, cold and crisp and pitch black. But Dream prefers it more, he knows that _George_ knows he prefers it more, if the cold hand intertwined with his is anything to go by. They walk up the street from Sapnap’s house in silence. Dream makes sure to stand between George and the street, knows how much George hates walking home at night, desperately hopes that Dream creates a shoddy enough barrier to give George even a little bit of comfort.

George is still humming the song from the party under his breath as he swings their hands together. Dream tries _so hard_ not to read to much into it, he really does. But it’s hard, with George singing about how despite everything, his feelings will never change. About how change happens, but they’ll always be together. How they walked into Sapnap’s shitty party holding hands, and they left it the same way.

He’s definitely reading too much into it.

Dream’s head perks up automatically when a pair of bright headlight flash ahead of them. Their getting closer to the main road now, so they should’ve anticipated cars driving past them. But still, Dream’s eyes never leave the car, turning his head to look at it drive past them.

George laughs and tugs on their interconnected hands for a moment. “What are you, a dog?”

From anyone else, it would’ve been a biting insult, and Dream probably would’ve gotten defensive and yanked his hand away. But it’s not anyone, it’s George. It’s always _George_. “Shut up,” he says, bumping their shoulders together.

The little bump forces Dream to notice how much George is shivering, even from beneath his two layers of shirts. Dream’s hoodie is off of himself in an instant, immediately pushed into George’s arms. George doesn’t protest, just briefly disconnects their hands to slip the too big hoodie over himself. He smiles up at Dream once he’s done, once again holding out his hand and motioning for Dream to reconnect them with a pout.

Idly, Dream thinks green is definitely George’s color.

They have to cross the street to get back to their apartment. They’re standing together, waiting at the light when George says, “I know you don’t like parties.”

“What? No. That’s not true I-“

“Dream shut up,” George pulls his hand downward, successfully jostling Dream right out of his train of thought, “I know you don’t like parties, it’s not a big deal. So why did you go to this one?”

Why did he go to this one?

That’s a stupid question. That’s maybe the stupidest thing George has ever asked, because the answer is so obvious, it’s so very fucking clear in Dream’s head, like the blinding streetlight he’s currently looking into to avoid George’s eyes. He runs through every single acceptable response in his brain, so desperately tries to wrap his tongue around one that makes sense.

He makes the mistake of looking into George’s eyes, and it’s all over.

“I don’t know,” _that’s a lie that’s a lie that’s a lie lie lie_ , “Just wanted to hang out with you tonight, I guess.”

The truth burns him, he can’t believe he just admitted that to George, just ripped out his heart and put it in George’s hands.

The finish the walk back to their shared apartment in silence. George never lets go of Dream’s hand.

The elevator is old and breaks frequently, Dream prays to whatever is listening that it doesn’t tonight. The silence feels unbearable to Dream, but George looks content. He’s smiling, squeezing Dream’s hand every few seconds. Dream swears George has some kind of sixth sense, because he can always tell when Dream’s looking at him. He looks up, forces Dream to hold the eye contact.

He doesn’t _force_ him, but it’s not like Dream would ever look away.

“So uh,” Dream coughs awkwardly, desperate for anything to break the tension in his throat, “Why did you leave early then?”

“How do you mean?”

Dream pauses for a moment, chooses his words carefully, “You normally love that sort of stuff. It seemed like you were having fun,” _from the picture I screenshotted at least-_ “but you said you wanted to leave early.”

“Oh,” George looks, shockingly, not caught off guard, “I guess I wanted to hang out with just you, too.”

 _Just you,_ Dream thinks. George tried to mirror his words, but Dream said _Just hang out with you_ and George had said _hang out with just you_.

Oh.

George fishes out his keys and opens their apartment door. It’s a good thing he did, because Dream’s hands are shaking too much to be of any use right now.

“Do you, um,” Dream’s tongue feels useless too, “do you want something to eat?”

“Just some water, I guess.”

Dream takes a clean glass from the counter and fills it with water, handing it to George, “You should really eat something after you drink that much. I’ll make you some toast it’s fine.”

George rolls his eyes, “Dream, I had like, one white claw.”

Oh. So not drunk then.

Huh.

“Still, let me just- let me just make you some toast. With the nice jelly.”

“The nice jelly you bought me?”

Dream blushes, “Do you not want it?”

“No I like it,” George walks around the counter to be in the kitchen with Dream. All of a sudden, the bread in his hands feels like a pound of bricks. “You’re just always doing such nice stuff for me, Dream.”

“Am I?”

Dream stares at the floor, notices how George moves a step closer. “Yeah. Your always doing stuff like buying me nice jelly and cooking for me and walking me home.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” George says, grabbing the bread from Dream’s hands and placing it on the counter. “It is to me, you always make sure to take such good care of me Dream.”

He looks up and George’s face is _right there_ , inches away from his own. He wonders why George is so close to him, _why_ he wants to be so close to him if Dream if he’s just going to cook his own toast-

“What if I want to take of you? You’re always so nice to me, you come to parties with me, you walk me home afterwards, you carry my groceries and drive me places and wake me up for class.”

“I don’t mind,” Dream buts in, he _has to_ , has to let George know he would do it all, do everything a million times over, do anything to help him, wants to take care of him so badly it hurts.

George smiles, less kind, more- well more something else, something Dream can’t place, something that feels almost like how Dream feels, something like _warmth and heat and want-_

“I know you don’t mind,” George’s hand is cold on his cheek, Dream doesn’t know how, he feels like he’ll burst into flames at any moment, “What if I want to take care of you? What if I want to make you feel good?”

_Huh?_

“Do you want me to make you feel good Dream?”

He’s shocked, he’s frozen, he doesn’t know what George is asking from him, doesn’t know what kind of response George wants. Every single word he knows feel _stuck_ , unmovable. His breathing has picked up, his jeans feel uncomfortably tight with George standing this close, but he _can’t_ think about that, not with George this close. George doesn’t want him _that_ way, not with the seas of people every weekend grabbing at him, pulling him in, offering him _more_ and _happier_ and _better_ than Dream can.

But George, time and time again, proves he can hear the gears turning in Dream’s head.

“You’re such an idiot.”

He grabs Dream by the collar of his shirt and is pulling him _down, down, down_ until-

Dream never thought he would be here, never thought he would ever get this far. Never let the runaway thoughts he has late into the early morning ever take him _here_ , standing in his kitchen, shell shocked, kissing the prettiest boy in the entire world.

But he is, he’s kissing him, kissing _George_ in their kitchen. His neck is strained from the angle, but holy shit he doesn’t care. He tries to push back, tries to chase George’s lips, tries to bite and lick his way into his mouth- god George’s tongue must feel so soft and _wet-_

George pulls away from him, uses the leverage on Dream’s shirt to hold him still. He’s out of breath, pupils blown out, “Is this okay?”

_Is this okay?_

Dream thinks if George doesn’t kiss him again he’ll cry.

“Yes,” Dream pants out as he leans back into George’s space, “Yes, god, fuck-“

Dream comes down to kiss George again, overshoots it by a lot. He almost ends up pushing George off his balance, grabs him by the waist and backs him into the cabinets behind him. When George finally opens his mouth, slowly and more shy than he’s been all night, Dream feels nirvana.

He was right, George’s mouth is so soft and sweet he’ll never get enough, not as long as George will let him. They move together, animalistic and hungry and so so needy. It feels like heaven, feels so _right_ in Dream’s bones he feels like he’s been kissing George his entire life.

“Bedroom,” George says as he breaks apart, “ _now_.”

And Dream moves turn out of the kitchen, but he’s stopped by George’s (now warm) hand on his arm. “What’re you doing?”

Dream feels like a kicked puppy, like he just messed up the rules to a game he didn’t know he was playing. “Um. Bedroom?”

“Carry me, asshole,” George makes little grabby hands above his head, signaling that he does, in fact, fully expect Dream to carry him to bed. “It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

Dream blushes, but it’s true. Sometimes, George would fall asleep working on his homework in the living room, or watching a dumb action movie with Dream, and he would always carry George to his room and made sure he was comfortable. Honestly, he didn’t even realize George knew he was doing it.

So he grabs George underneath his thighs and hoists him up, encourages him to wrap is legs around Dream’s waist. The position makes Dream’s face go even more red than before, but George is leaning back in to kiss him and Dream can’t find it in himself to mind.

He doesn’t hesitate before turning into George’s room, the two of them spend so much time in there already it just feels more natural than Dream’s. The blue LEDs and George’s huge PC setup frankly feel almost like home, but instead of Dream sitting on the floor, he goes to lay George down on his bed.

George looks so _pretty_ on his bed, panting and breathless, grabbing at Dream’s shirt just to pull it off. He spends a moment here, running his long fingers up and down Dream’s chest, zoning in on the way Dream’s chest heaves _up and down_. He has to fight the unshakable urge to cover up, to break George’s trance because George’s gaze is pure _heat_ and he’s _burning alive_ , but-

“Fuck, Dream you’re so hot.”

But he wants to be exactly what George wants, wants George to feel like Dream’s body is just for him, wants George to feel a fraction of the possessiveness that’s crawling up and out of Dream every moment longer he spends in this beautiful boy’s bedroom.

Dream goes to undo George’s jeans to give his shaking hands some direction, George tries to help him by lifting Dream’s green hoodie up over his head. But suddenly, Dream imagines George _without_ his hoodie, not wearing the oversized thing that has kept him warm on their walk home, imagines George back inside the party in the nice blue shirt he wore for everyone else-

“Do you, uh,” _this is so fucking stupid_ , Dream thinks to himself, “do you like, mind, like, keeping it on?”

George’s smile is a lot more feline than human. “What, you want me to keep on your hoodie?”

Dream’s looking anywhere but George, “Shut up.”

“No I think it’s sweet,” George’s hand moves to hold Dream’s bicep, pulling his gaze right back into George’s eyes, “You want me to wear your hoodie while you fuck me? You want me to remember who’s inside of me every time I look down? You like seeing me completely owned by you, everything from your clothes to your dick?”

 _Fuck_ Dream wants that.

He leans in to try and devour George’s mouth with his own, tries to claim it as _his_. He doesn’t know how George manages it, but Dream feels out of his mind, like he’s about to combust, like the only thing that could possible settle the ache in his bones is _George, George, George,_ any way he can have him.

George’s hand on his neck pulls him away. “Down boy,” George giggles, “let me take off my undershirt, you freak.”

He goes to take the hoodie off first, handing it off the Dream for safe keeping, before removing the two layers of shirts under it. The sight of George’s pale, skinny chest sets off something within Dream, his first thought being _holy shit he’s gorgeous_ and his second _does he eat enough? I should’ve finished that toast._

George shoots an equally impatient and unamused look at Dream, motioning with his head towards the fabric in his hands. Dream scrambles to unbunch the hoodie, carefully smoothing it out and fitting it over George’s frame, practically _drools_ at the sight of the too big collar exposing more of his pretty chest.

Dream zones out looking at George’s collarbone, imagine what it must feel like under his teeth, if it would taste salty and bitter or as sweet as how George seems.

“Get on the bed, Dream.”

He scrambles, _anything he wants_ Dream thinks. He swaps places with George, taking to sitting on the bed while George stands up and works to remove his too tight jeans. And when he removes his underwear, Dream just barely sees the tops of George’s thigh, the little pale parts where it meets the roundness of his ass.

Dream’s losing it. He’s losing his mind, miles of pale skin interrupted by Dream’s favorite piece of clothing, in the shade of green that follows Dream everywhere, is going to kill him.

George kneels between Dream’s legs, uses his too long too pale fingers to spread his legs even wider. The same fingers move to the button of his jeans, to the top of his zipper, to the waistband of his pants, move to pull down his jeans and underwear in a too harsh tug.

“Dream what the fuck.”

His dick is hard, inches away from George’s face. He’s staring at it, so intense and analytical Dream feels like he’s being judged. He moves his hand to cover himself, but a green covered hand stop him.

“Your dick is fucking huge.”

Dream intertwines his hands with George and looks away, “Is that like, a compliment?”

“Yeah,” George looks a little evil, looking up at Dream from between his bare legs, “I wanna taste you.”

“I mean, you _can_ , if you want to.”

The warm breath on Dream’s dick suddenly shift to wet heat as George’s tongue tries to wrap around his shaft. The warmth and the heat are so much so suddenly, Dream tries to shift away from George’s mouth the same time he tries to buck his hips upward. George smiles up at him, a little too full of it an a little too mean, before he closes his mouth over Dream’s head.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Dream’s free hand goes to grab at George’s hair, _it’s so much it’s so much already fuck_ -, before George’s other hand goes to grab that one too.

“Just be good for me, okay Dream?”

 _Shit_ ok he’ll be good he’ll try so hard to be good.

He lets George hold his hands down as he works on his dick, lets the heat building up in his stomach make his legs tense and jostle around George’s head, lets every little movement be met by George squeezing his hands and glaring up at him.

“I never thought- that you’d, _shit_ George, that you’d be like-“

George pulls off Dreams cock, blows on the cooling spit to send a shiver through Dream’s entire body, “Like what?”

 _Bitchy, demanding, controlling, dominant_ Dream thinks to himself.

“Never thought you’d be this _hot_ ,” he settles for instead. George smiles, goes back down to try to take as much of Dream into his throat as possible.

The moan Dream lets out is definitely very masculine and not at all embarrassing.

It’s true though, whenever Dream let himself think about George _this way_ , he always thought of George beneath him, pinned against a wall, bent over a table, a mirror image to the moaning mess Dream feels like right now. Reality is, well it’s definitely different.

Dream thinks reality might even be _better_.

One of George’s hands lets go of Dream, shoots him a look that screams _don’t you dare move_ as George reaches under his bed to pull out a small bottle of lube. Dream’s hands have to clench in on themselves to keep himself following George’s orders, as George keeps a steady pace of bobbing up and down on Dream’s cock while slicking up one of his hands with lube.

His lubed hand reaches behind himself. Dream can feel the moan vibrate around him when George’s finger breaches his hole. He tries to focus on the pink of George’s lips wrapped around him, the blissed out and completely relaxed look on George’s face, the building warmth that comes with George’s steady rhythm, _anything_ to keep himself from finishing too fast. But George shifts up a little, must’ve put another finger in, because this time when he moans he looks right up at Dream through his teary lashes and Dream has to try and move away.

“George, _fuck, George_ I’m gonna come, please-“

George pulls off of Dream with a wet _pop_ , coughs a couple times to try to clear his throat, and despite the heat behind his eyes, George also looks completely unamused.

“You were gonna come just from my mouth?” George left hand is still constantly shifting behind him, Dream wonders if the lube slipped past George’s wrist an onto the sleeve of the hoodie, wants to see it for himself _so badly_ , “How long are you supposed to last when I’m riding you?”

“Fuck, George, _I don’t know_ please George please-“

“Do you even want me to ride you?” George asks. Despite the meanness of his tone, he’s still smiling up at Dream, starts pushing his hips down onto his fingers just a little faster, “I could just jerk you off, I guess. Could just jerk you off, let you finish on my face, and grab a dildo and ride that instead.”

 _No!_ Dream wants to scream. Like _hell_ is he gonna let George fuck himself onto something that _isn’t_ Dream’s currently aching dick, the thought makes him feel insane. He grabs George under his arms (briefly marveling at how much extra fabric the hoodie has around George’s torso) and positions him in his lap.

Dream also doesn’t want to think about the fact that he was _jealous_ of a _dildo_ , he can beat himself up about it later.

He grabs George by his waist, lifts him up and over and onto his dick, but George pushes his chest backwards. “Stop it.”

Dream whines, but listens. He holds the fabric of the hoodie so tightly his knuckles turn white, patiently waits as George shifts around on his lap and takes Dream’s dick in his hands.

“Sit on your hands.”

“ _George, please,_ ”

“Don’t you want to be good for me?”

Dream frantically nods his head, _fuck yes_ he wants to be good, wants to make George feel good, wants to look at George’s pretty blissed out face as he rides him.

“Then sit on your hands.”

He’s shaking, he doesn’t even know how his legs are working enough to lift him up, but he sits on his hands, just like George wants him to.

“You’re such a good boy dream. Think you deserve a reward?”

He nods again, leaning forward into George and resting his head on his shoulder. “Please.”

“Okay Dreamie,” George laughs in his ear. Dream would protest if he didn’t feel so completely out of his mind, if his entire body didn’t shake with the way that George positions his cock and lifted his hips right over him.

When George’s body gives way and opens up around Dream’s cock, his breath comes out shallow and fast and scarce. He has to bite down on the fabric at George’s shoulder to distract himself, _anything_ to stop him from moving, anything to be good for George. He presses down slowly, so _fucking_ slowly and so good and so _tight_ and Dream wants nothing more then to buck upwards and feel all of George around him.

But he doesn’t. He sits perfectly still, biting around his hoodie where it covers George’s shoulder, breathing heavily through his nose and trying so so fucking _hard_ to be good, to make George happy.

When George’s entire weight is settled into Dream’s lap, he grabs Dream by the hair and forces him back to look at him. George is smiling, he looks so fucking _happy_ and _content_ sitting on Dream’s dick he feels like he could _cry_ , _he’s_ the one making George feel this way, wrapped up in his hoodie and full of his dick.

“You okay?”

 _Of course_ George would ask him that, he’s so nice and kind and thoughtful.

Dream nods. “Can I kiss you?”

The crinkles around George’s eyes grow, he looks so _happy_ and Dream _made him that way_. “Of course, Dream, you don’t have to ask for that.”

Dream leans forward, completely and utterly possessed by the thought of George’s lips. The force of it knocks George back a little, causing him to shift a little around Dream. The kiss turns into more of Dream panting and licking his way into George’s mouth, entire body fully tense and useless and George lifts himself up and then slams himself back down.

Dream’s completely and totally overwhelmed. George’s pace is fucking brutal, constantly changing the angle to hit deeper inside of himself. His pretty brown eyes are closed now, head thrown back as his fucks himself onto Dream’s cock, uses Dream body like one of his dildos to fill him up and get himself off.

The thought of it makes Dream feel like nothing he’s ever felt before, somewhere between overwhelmed with joy and blinding heat. He wants to feel this way forever, let George use him however he wants, wants to make George feel safe and happy and taken care of and full.

“You feel good Dreamie?”

Dream tries to tell George he does, really really tries. But he’s so focused on staying still and the way George clenches around him that he doesn’t trust himself to make any sounds beyond and unintelligible hum.

“Do you like it like this?” George asks, never letting up the quick little bounces that make Dream roll his eyes back into his head. “Do you like sitting here, like a good boy, letting me do whatever I want to you?”

Dream can’t even nod in agreement anymore, just moans out when George slams down just on the side of too hard.

“You’re so good for me Dream. You always take such good care of me, knew you would feel so good inside of me.”

Dream cries out, he’s _so glad_ George feels good, starts to kiss up George’s neck to let him know how fucking _grateful_ he is.

“I’m close.”

He moves his head away from George’s neck on autopilot, wants to see George’s dick red and leaking between them, almost cries when he realizes his hoodie is in the way. But he thinks about George’s dick, probably so fucking sensitive and George hasn’t even _touched_ it, rubbing against the soft green fabric and coating it in his precome. _Fuck_.

“Dream,” George has gone still in his lap, just shifting his hips up and down, definitely catching on George’s prostate with the way he lingers, “Dream I’m tired.”

_Huh?_

“Can you help me out Dreamie?”

 _Yes,_ Dream wants to scream, _Anything anything I’ll do anything-_

There’s a few problems with George’s request, Dream quickly realizes. “But, my hands-“ he wants to cry, wants to make George come so _fucking_ badly, but he feels so useless, hands trapped beneath him, where _George_ asked him to keep them.

“You can use your hands, Dream,” George smiles. He looks so far gone, almost as gone as Dream is, but he’s smiling, so content, “you’ve been so good for me, want you to help me now.”

“Yes-“ Dream starts, shifting his hands from underneath himself, flexing his fingers a few times from where they’ve gone numb and heavy, “yes-“

He tries not to waste time, not with George looking at him like he lit up the night sky, all for him. His hands go underneath his hoodie, grips George by the waist the way he’s been thinking about all night, lifts him up nearly all the way off his cock so gently, like he’s made of glass, and then slams him back down like he’s trying to _break him_.

George _cries_ with it, takes his hoodie covered hands to hide his face, moans so sweetly when Dream changes the angle.

“Please,” Dream’s words sound shakey, but he _has_ to get this out _has_ to ask this of George, “wanna see- wanna see when you come.”

George moans louder than before, moves his hands to hold onto Dream’s shoulders instead of being around his face. His eyes are open now, blown out and so fucking _huge_ Dream has to be careful not to get too lost in them, doesn’t want to slow down for even a second.

“I love how you look at me,” George babbles out, way too fast for him to be anything but painfully close to coming, “ _fuck_ I love how you always look at me like I’m so pretty, you make me feel so pretty Dream, wanna be so fucking pretty for you, want you to take care of me forever and then thank you just like this every night.”

It sounds a little to much like a confession for Dream to do anything but pick up his pace, thrust his hips upwards every time George comes down.

He wants to so badly, too. Wants George like this whenever he’ll let him, hitches up his hoodie so he can see George’s dick when he comes.

George wraps a shaking hand around his himself and he’s _gone_.

Dream was right and wrong all in once. George does looks pretty when he comes, he’d look pretty doing anything, but _pretty_ doesn’t even begin to describe it. He looks godly, like an angel was plucked out of heaven and straight onto Dream’s dick, arching his back upwards and crying out while he spasms on around Dream, shaking as Dream doesn’t stop bouncing him onto his cock, want to give George _everything_.

Most of his come had landed somewhere between Dream’s hoodie and his pale stomach, Dream watches, fascinated, as George shakily tries to catch his breath, panting into the space between them as Dream slows his thrusts.

He feels a little mean for doing it, but he saw _something_ , something in the way George’s belly would expand and then shrink back every time Dream pulled out of him, would try to chase it more if George didn’t force him to stop by grabbing his head.

“Dream,” George says, so shaky and fucked out, “you close?”

Dream nods, he’s so close, he’s so fucking close, he wants to come so fucking badly, wants to fill George up with his seed and push it farther into his hole with his fingers, wants to taste it with his head between George’s thighs.

“You did so well Dreamie,” George practically purrs above him, “you deserve a reward, you’ve been so good all night, did everything I asked.”

“Please,” George is right, he _has_ been good, made George feel good, wants to come so _badly_.

George closes his eyes, clearly tired, shifts around on Dream’s dick again. “You have my permission.”

 _To do what_? Dream thinks, bites down on George’s shoulder instead.

“You have my permission,” George maneuvers his head so they’re a hair’s breadth apart, speaks his words into Dream’s open mouth, “you have my permission to fuck me however you want. Just want you to come.”

George is on his stomach, hips in the air before Dream’s brain even catches up to him. He’s roughly thrusting in and out of him, trying to be gentle but definitely failing, leans forward to bunch the hoodie around George’s armpits and uses one hand to feel George’s stomach.

 _Fuck_ it’s definitely there. There’s a little bump on George’s stomach that reappears every time Dream pushes back into him. It’s so fucking hot and Dream doesn’t even know _why_ , no one he’s ever been with has had this happen before, it makes him feel lightheaded when he pushes down and feels the faintest bit of pressure on his dick.

One of George’s hands feels around near Dream’s, and he moans when he realizes what it his Dream’s feeling. “ _Fuck_ Dream your so big. I can barely hold all of you in me. Like you’re forcing your dick to make room inside of me. Feels so good, felt so good all night.”

Dream thrusts into him harder, revels in the way George is crying out and overstimulated. “Can I-“ Dream breathes out into the back of George’s neck, “inside?”

George’s head tilts forwards, intertwines his fingers with Dream’s on his stomach, “ _Please_.”

And Dream comes. How could he not, with George asking him so nicely.

He feels like he’s going blind, feels the way every nerve in his body lights up, every muscle in his body tenses and _shakes_ all at the same time. He keeps pushing into George, fucks his seed deeper and deeper into George’s body as his brain shuts down with a crescendo of pleasure, utterly consumed by the beautiful boy beneath him.

Dream’s face is wet when he comes back around. It takes him several mystifying seconds to realize that he’s _crying_ , of all things. He’s not even sure when he started crying, if it was before his orgasm or afterwards.

But George is there, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of Dream’s hoodie. And Dream thinks he really doesn’t care about anything else right now.

George had shifted them around at some point, Dream now on his back with George laying on top of him, careful to avoid his oversensitive dick, but snuggled up to him as close as possible. Dream wants to laugh, the entire thing is so ridiculous. He feels great, lighter than he’s ever felt, having just had a mind wiping orgasm with his roommate he’s been secretly into _for months_ , but for some reason he’s crying.

“You okay?” George asks, lifting his head with one of his hands.

“Yeah I-“ Dream starts. He has to stop to sniffle a little and clear his throat, he feels so _weird_ , “I just like you a lot, I guess.”

George laughs, a little bubbly and a little insane. “Well, I hope I just made it excruciatingly clear that I like you too, idiot.”

“You do?”

“Dream, we just had sex for like,” George looks at the clock sitting on his desk, “Two entire hours. And I would very much like to do it again, in the future.”

“Oh.” Dream’s not sure why he’s so surprised. _Obviously_ he doesn’t want this to be a one time thing, but to hear George say it? To hear George _wants him back_? “Can I buy you dinner first?”

George pauses, mouth open, searching Dream’s eyes for _something_ , but Dream doesn’t know what. Evidently he find it, because George begins shaking with laughter. He has to roll off of Dream, has to thrash his head around with it. “Dream,” George breathes out between dying giggles, “how is that different from like, any other day? You were probably gonna buy me dinner tomorrow.”

“How did you-“

“You always buy me dinner on Saturdays. I don’t know, it’s just like a thing you do.”

“I just like- I just stop and get something on my way home from work. I thought you’d want something too.”

“I do,” George smiles up at him, too fond to be buried in Dream’s hoodie and filled with his come. “I always do.”

Dream rolls his eyes, tears completely gone. He turns and wraps his arms around George, knowing that he’ll probably complain about being sticky in the morning.

Dream will take care of him then. But now he just wants to sleep.

“You’ll sleep here tonight, right?” George asks from where he’s curled into Dream’s chest.

“Course,” Dream responds, “anything you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it to the end! I had a really good time writing this fic, I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I do! I hope you'll consider leaving a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed, I love reading and responding to comments it makes my day :D If you have a Tumblr and want to come say hi, I'm gays4thebloodgod on there! 
> 
> Cuck fic coming soon ;)


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